Today’s prompt: At the end, there was a door . . . (Write as Cooper, from beyond.)
At the end, there was a door . . .
And through that door, I found myself. The Coop I knew. The Coop I liked. The gentle giant. The mountain man. The boy who knew pure joy. I found myself. I am myself.
Here, I understand.
Here, I know.
Can you? Can you know that I am okay now? Can you know that all I sought to escape couldn’t follow me through the door? Can you know I like myself again, that my body and mind are once again mine? The betrayal is over. Here, on my side of the door, we have no death or mourning or crying or pain. No tears. No racing thoughts. No doubt or indecision. No demons of the mind. No pointless, useless shit.
Only good.
Here, my endless philosophical questions are answered. Turns out, I wasn’t doing too bad on that stuff. Also, I was right–quit buying things you don’t need. Why do you do that? So little actually matters. I already knew that when I was on your side of the door. Here, on my side of the door, it’s so clear even the most materialistic of you might finally get it.
Another thing. You need to know, those posters in your junior high classroom were right. In the end, nobody cares what shoes or clothes or car or house you have. What matters on both sides of the door is WHO you are. WHAT you are. HOW you treat others. I can’t stress that enough. Be a good person. Just. Be. Kind. Quit worrying about the things money can buy. And all that judging you’re doing? You should stop. You should knock that shit off right now. It’s not your call. The door is the judge. The door will decide. Mind your business.
Listen, I know it’s hard for you to understand why I did what I did, but I also know you aren’t completely clueless. Some people find themselves at college, and that was a little true for me. Others find themselves at a campsite, but man, I lost myself at a campsite. The parts of me that are thriving now died then. You know. I told you in my note. That was the end of Your Cooper. I tried to find Your Cooper. You helped me search. I tried for two months, following the rules, taking the pills, being a good boy. It didn’t work. Your Cooper was gone. I had to cross through the door to find myself again.
I know you’re sad. I know your days are endless and your nights are worse. I’m sorry about that. Keep doing the weird hand comparison if it makes you feel better. Tell stories about me. I certainly left you with plenty of those. If you need to cry, cry. But . . . if you want to laugh, laugh. Don’t worry about what people think. I know when I left, when I went through the door, I took part of you with me. That’s love–our greatest joy and our deepest pain. Does it help you to know I’m okay? That I carry your love with me? That your love will still be alive when you have your turn at the door? I am sorry you hurt. I didn’t want any of you to hurt. Can you trust me when I say your hurt is temporary? It doesn’t feel temporary; I believe you. But it is.
It’s more temporary than you can imagine.
Here, on my side of the door, there are no long, sad hours. Here, minutes and hours and days and weeks and centuries are one. On your side of the door, it probably feels like endless sorrow, immeasurable pain. Hold on. Hold on to each other, and trust me. Trust what you know. Nothing lasts forever on your side of the door.
On my side of the door, it is forever.
I love you all. I love you more than I ever loved myself.
Coop
Woods Writes 